


Socius

by eyemeohmy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A burden shared is a burden lifted."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socius

**Author's Note:**

> Another old request from my queue I’m finally getting around to writing. This time, Drift/Ambulon for decepticonsensual on tumblr.
> 
> I wanted to write something angsty, and, well… Not as angsty as I wanted, but here you go, hope you like it. Rated G for like nothing except very mild sexuality.
> 
> Yeah, I’m _actually writing_ Drift! If he comes off as OOC, it’s because this is like the first time I’ve written anything serious/relatively long with Drift. (That isn't, well, getting tortured by Kaon.)

"You have a good excuse for not seeing a medic?"

Drift turned from the door, bright eyes blinking. It took him a moment to register— Ah, yes. He looked down at his raised left arm, at the gash across the top of his hand. “It’s nothing,” he reassured, and locked the door. “My healing nanites will take care of it.”

"You’re not a doctor, however."

"So?"

"So?" White fingers beckoned the former Decepticon over. "Let a real doctor check it out."

Drift frowned but did as instructed. He walked over to the berth, held out his hand; those same white fingers took it, a thumb sweeping just below the tear.

"This is too deep for your nanites. You need to get this cleaned then welded closed."

Drift sighed. “I was going to see Ratchet, but he’s busy with other patients. The more seriously wounded. First Aid, too.”

"I find that a little hard to believe, given it was only you and two others who went on the away mission."

"Yeah, well," Drift looked away, "they were worse off than me."

Ambulon frowned. He pointed to the desk nearby, said, “Get me my medkit. No excuses.”

Drift was too tired to argue anyway; fetched the kit and brought it back to the medic. Ambulon took his hand again and went to work. Drift watched him, closely, as he first sanitized the open wound then took out a small device; it activated with a hiss and a few sparks of light bounced off his hand (pain receptors disabled) as the metal was slowly pinched back together.

"This is only temporary, mind you," Ambulon mumbled, his yellow optics dim from the sheltering of an extra set of protective lenses. He continued focusing on closing the wound. "Tomorrow, you’ll need another cleaning, and some buffing."

Drift nodded. “Right.” He went back to watching the medic, staring at his serious expression, face glowing from the sparks of his tool. They brightened the dim room, but cast only a small light they shared between them.

After a moment of silence, Ambulon said, “… You came back in better shape than usual.”

Drift slowly smiled. He knew that was the medic’s code for he was happy he was okay. “Were you worried about me?” he asked.

One corner of Ambulon’s frown quirked. “I’m always worried about you,” he said over the whir of the small welding device, “mostly because you’re - well - you.”

Drift laughed playfully. “I know,” he smirked, “I’m still working on that. Ratchet’s just as concerned, too.”

"See that you do."

Another minute of silence stretched. Drift, still smiling lightly, was the first to break it. “Remember when we first met?” he inquired. Smirked, just a little bitterly. “Well, kind of.”

"Yes," Ambulon replied. "You were a petulant, stubborn little aft." And the white mech chuckled. "I heard from Ratchet your first impression with him wasn’t so good, either."

"Well, it was a different sort of ‘bad,’ to be honest."

"Mhm." Ambulon was close to finishing the repairs. "… Why do you bring it up?"

Drift blinked. “Oh,” he trailed off there for a moment, said, “well, I was just thinking… You were telling me I needed bed rest for another day before my system finally cleared up. I can’t remember exactly what ha—”

"You caught a virus from an Autobot you killed."

Drift repressed his wince. “Yeah, that,” he mumbled. Nonetheless, he continued, “And I just told you to frag off. Even threatened to lop your head off if you kept me in the sickbay any longer.” He looked from the dancing sparks to Ambulon’s solemn face. “Remember what happened then?”

"Of course," Ambulon mumbled. "You got up, I grabbed you by the shoulder; you turned to punch my faceplates in, but I struck first. Knocked you off your feet; you hit your head on the floor with an almost… comical thud. Fell unconscious a second later."

"Yeah, well," Drift said, optics closed and head tilted, "I wasn’t in tip-top shape then. Otherwise you would have been dead."

"Mhm."

"Don’t believe me?"

Ambulon shrugged, lightly, not wanting to mess up his near complete work. “I wasn’t a combiner back then,” he said, “so… yeah. I’m sure you would have killed me, easily.”

"I thought about it, after I woke up," Drift explained. "But… I had to give you some credit. You pulled a fast one on me, medic. I underestimated your strength, even. So I decided to spare you."

"How thoughtful." Ambulon switched off the instrument, sat back; the protective lenses over his optics retracted back into their housing. Drift raised his hand, looked his repairs over - a scar, and the metal was still hot, but it would do. "I’ll finish things up tomorrow in the medbay," Ambulon stated.

Drift nodded. “Thank you, Ambulon.”

Ambulon, however, quickly noticed something was… off. Drift normally went about getting ready for recharge when he came back to his room, yet he still lingered, standing there. His EM field was more restrained than usual; self-discipline he taught himself. But Ambulon, having known the white mech intimately for some time now, knew something was up.

"What’s wrong?"

Drift tried to look surprised, but… too tired to argue, too tired to try and play ignorant and lie. So he simply bowed his head, frowning sadly. “… I knew one of the Decepticons,” he said, quietly.

Ambulon remained neutral and silent.

Drift continued staring at his new scar. “And he recognized me, too,” he mumbled. “Called me by my old name.” He squinted. “I got this during my moment of distraction. Lost focus when he called me Deadlock and I knew who he was.” He turned his hand over, studying his palm. “But his surprise also cost him. Something worse than a small wound.” Drift paused a moment. “Watched as Whirl tore him in half. Just like that. One fell swoop, and he was in pieces. On the ground, dying, still staring up at me… I don’t think he even realized what had happened to him. Deactivated a minute later.”

Ambulon sat forward. “I see.”

"It took me a little while to remember his name, you see," Drift continued. His fingers curled into a fist. "Just after we returned to the ship, it suddenly struck me. Draggle. That was his name."

"Draggle?"

Drift was surprised by Ambulon’s tone. He looked up at the medic, whose expression switched quickly from shock to studious again. Drift, however, had still caught a glimpse of it. Curiously, he asked, “You knew Draggle?”

Ambulon hesitated to respond. He put the welder back in the medkit, closed it. “Briefly,” he said a few seconds later. “I worked with him and his team once. We were on a mission, gathering energon. Simple, really, but the boss wanted a medic to tag along anyway. He was the leader; he was also the only mech in the group who spoke to me. And that was only because he talked so damn much.”

Drift laughed. “He was a loud mouth, yeah. When we first met, I told him if he didn’t shut up, I’d cut his tongue out.”

"Hmm, not surprised," Ambulon snorted. "But… It was weird. He didn’t strike me as the warrior type. Must have been why he was doing energon runs."

Drift shook his head. “Me neither,” he agreed. “Which is why seeing him there on the battlefield also shocked me. He was used to working the mundane, boring jobs.”

"Genericon," Ambulon invented, "through and through." He rubbed at one tense shoulder. "They must have been short on soldiers. Make due with what they had, so off to battle he went."

It really was a ragtag crew. Of the five Decepticons sent to stop the intruders, Drift recognized two - not counting Draggle - were clearly not meant for battle. Pushing data, filling out paperwork, doing inventory; not fighting, not taking seasoned Autobot warriors head on, not wielding weapons they barely knew how to use or operate.

And for a moment, Drift actually felt _wrong_ fighting one of them. It didn’t take long to kill off the poor bastard, but Drift still felt sorry for him. Felt as if there was no honor in a losing fight that was so obviously one-sided in strength and power.

"Had Draggle been born in a time without war, his future would have probably been… much different."

Drift stepped out of his daze. The gloom still hung over his head, however. “Yeah,” he said, quietly, “he wasn’t much of the standard Decepticon type, anyway.” He glared back at the floor. “And I don’t know why,” he said, a little annoyed, “but the fact Whirl was laughing at him as he lay there dying, making a joke in regards to his death… It… bothered me?”

"Oh?"

Drift grunted, immediately embarrassed. “It’s stupid, I know,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It’s not. You knew Draggle. You knew what kind of person he was." Ambulon paused. "You knew his fate was probably not the one he deserved. Even for a Decepticon, who wasn’t a very good Decepticon from the start." He glanced at the Autobot insignia on Drift’s chassis. "There are people in the Decepticon ranks who don’t belong. Who deserve better; who could _be_ better. And even though they’ve become my enemies by default, I’d still mourn their deaths.”

Drift cast a sympathetic gaze at Ambulon. “… Yeah.”

For a minute, almost, they said nothing. Whether it be the sudden sadness that overcame them, or some sort of moment of silence for Draggle or the mechs just like him who passed, it didn’t really matter. It was a silence both uncomfortable and peaceful, one hard to explain, but yet both understood and shared.

"You look tired," Drift noted. One of his swords popped free of its sheath on his back, the mech withdrawing it.

Ambulon hummed and sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mm, yeah.”

"We could both use some recharge." Drift crossed the room, placing his swords back on their racks; activated the protective forcefield then turned to face Ambulon again. The medic was on his feet, finishing up a few things.

Drift went to his berth, sat down; he took another moment to trace a finger along the puckered scar on his hand. Instantly remembered the pain as a blast from his opponent’s gun grazed across his hand when he instinctively turned to stare, shocked, at the smaller, equally baffled Decepticon.

Remembered that sudden jump in his spark when Draggle was cut in half. Remembered that streak of irritation and offense at Whirl’s cackling. Remembered—

Warm fingers suddenly rested on his hips from behind, and then there was soft pressure against the back of his head as Ambulon rested his forehead there. “Stop,” he said, his fingers tightening slightly, “it won’t change anything.”

Drift smiled, a sad little thing. “Yeah,” he replied, a hand sliding over one on his hip, “I know.” He turned then, Ambulon sitting back, until the swordsman was between his legs, taking his face gently, and pulling him into a soft, but warm kiss. Ambulon shuttered his optics and returned the kiss with the same respect.

A minute later, Drift broke the kiss; didn’t move away, just bumped his crest to Ambulon’s. Kept his face in his hands, closed his optics, and sighed. “It’s selfish of me to turn to you in regards to these… matters,” he murmured.

"Not at all," Ambulon said. His hands rested on Drift’s thighs. "If I even so much as whispered the word ‘Decepticon’ back on Delphi, Pharma would see to my transfer to some backwater Hellhole of a planet." He would have laughed, but given how things ended on Messatine… "So, I guess… It helps me, too."

"You’re not here simply because we empathize with one another; you know that, right?"

Ambulon tugged on a very small smile. He slipped his hands over Drift’s, said, “I know,” and leaned in to take another grateful kiss.


End file.
